


Stick Shift

by ras_elased



Category: SGA - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-30
Updated: 2006-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-11 13:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ras_elased/pseuds/ras_elased
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is a race car driver and Rodney is his pit mechanic. McShep AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stick Shift

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a ficlet for [pentapus](http://pentapus.livejournal.com/)' doodle drabble 2.0, purely because I wanted to see her draw John in a racing jacket. (Rawr!) But then it somehow ballooned into John and Rodney having sex on the hood of a racecar, and, well…now it's really long. Sorry, pentapus, if it's too long for your doodle _drabble_ meme. My only excuse is that John and Rodney wanted pr0n. Also…I know nothing about racing, so any inaccuracies are totally my fault. Everything else can be blamed on my beta, [triple7lies](http://triple7lies.livejournal.com/). 

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

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[fic: stick shift](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%3A%20stick%20shift), [genre: au](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20au), [pairing: mcshep](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/pairing%3A%20mcshep), [rating: nc-17](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/rating%3A%20nc-17)  
  
  
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**Stick Shift**   
_

Title: Stick Shift

Author: Ras Elased

Rating: NC-17  
Spoilers: M&amp;MM

Summary: John is a race car driver and Rodney is his pit mechanic. McShep AU

Author's notes: This started as a ficlet for [pentapus](http://pentapus.livejournal.com/)' doodle drabble 2.0, purely because I wanted to see her draw John in a racing jacket. (Rawr!) But then it somehow ballooned into John and Rodney having sex on the hood of a racecar, and, well…now it's really long. Sorry, pentapus, if it's too long for your doodle _drabble_ meme. My only excuse is that John and Rodney wanted pr0n. Also…I know nothing about racing, so any inaccuracies are totally my fault. Everything else can be blamed on my beta, [triple7lies](http://triple7lies.livejournal.com/).   
ETA: Big thanks to martoufmarty for the racing info! :D

  


 

Rodney was crouched by the car, John's car, _his_ car, inspecting it for any post-race damage. It looked fine, the giant, ludicrous Aqua Velva logo of their principle sponsor shining brightly on the hood, and the number 47 standing out in bold blue and white on each side.

 

"Trust me, Mer, your baby's fine." Jeannie's amused voice at his shoulder startled him. She was dressed in the same blue pit uniform as he was, and not for the first time Rodney wished she would wear some baggy coveralls. There was only so much time he could devote to throwing death glares at catcalling, drunken spectators.

 

"Yes, well, just making sure. It looked like John was having some trouble in those last few laps, and with the way he drives it could—"

 

"Oh, give him a break! He _won_!" Jeannie rolled her eyes, looking over at John posing for pictures, beaming with pride, holding tight to the large gold cup in his hands. "Doesn't he look happy?"

 

Rodney eyed John from across the track. He was signing some blonde bimbo's cleavage while her friend, a brunette, admired the trademark hair that had never met a helmet capable of defeating it. "Yes, yes, he's very happy," he grumbled bitterly.

 

Jeannie squeezed his arm slightly, giving him a sympathetic look. "Oh, Mer."

 

Rodney opened his mouth to snap at her—he didn't need her pity, and would she _ever_ stop calling him that? But John's voice interrupted him. "Hey, McKay!" Rodney looked up just in time to see John lob his keys at his face. "She was acting a little wonky in the last few laps, like she couldn't quite handle the sharper turns. See what you can do about that, will ya buddy?"

 

John didn't wait for an answer, just put his arms around the two women he'd been autographing before and walked off, oblivious to Rodney's interjected comments of "_Wonky_?" and "Maybe it's operator error, moron." Still, he began barking orders to the rest of the pit crew to get the car set up in the garage. Turning to Jeannie, he asked, "You coming?"

 

"What, skip the victory party and spend the whole night eating junk food while designing an entirely new steering and suspension system? Tempting, Mer, very tempting." If Rodney didn't feel exactly the same way, he would almost have suspected his sister was being sarcastic. "Still, I think I'll pass. Look, maybe you should come, too. It'll do you good to take a night off and celebrate. And number 47's suspension system will still be there in the morning."

 

Rodney briefly considered it before a shout erupted from the crowd and he spotted a third bimbo, this time a redhead, dousing John and his surrounding throng with cheap champagne. "No," Rodney sighed. "I don't think so."

 

~#~

 

Rodney heard the soft approach of footsteps headed towards the garage, figuring Jeannie had gotten bored with the party and come back to help him work on John's—_Rodney's_—car. Smugly, he called, "I knew you couldn't stay away." Rolling out from underneath the car, he turned a grease-stained face towards the door, his smile falling away in shock when he saw John standing in the doorway, still dressed in his racing uniform—though he'd somehow lost the shirt during the course of the festivities, but managed to hold on to his jacket—trophy clutched in one hand and a half-drunk bottle of champagne in the other.

 

"Yeah, something like that," John drawled, swaying drunkenly in the doorway.

 

Rodney ignored the nonsensical comment and hardened his expression. "Oh, it's you. Don't you have a victory party to be attending, schmoozing to do, half-naked women to autograph? What are you doing here?"

 

"I, uh, wanted to see you?" John answered, as if his alcohol infused brain wasn't quite sure that was the reason he'd left the party.

 

Rodney sighed, relenting. "Well, as long as you're here, you might as well make yourself useful. Hand me that socket wrench." John just looked from the trophy in one hand to the champagne bottle in the other, then back at Rodney with a slightly befuddled expression that Rodney stubbornly refused to find adorable. "Never mind." He rolled his eyes at John's drunken stupor, his glare coming to rest on the trophy John was still clutching tightly to his chest. "Have you been carrying that thing around with you all night?"

 

John looked down at the champagne bottle in his hand. "What? No, this is my second one," he slurred, scrunching his eyebrows in deep thought. "Possibly third."

 

Rodney just groaned. "Look, I know you probably don't have enough sober brain cells left to understand this, but let's try again. Unless that trophy and bottle have somehow welded themselves to your hands, why don't you set them down and help me out? I could actually use an extra pair of hands here."

 

John immediately set the objects on the nearest work bench, then gave Rodney a slow smile. "I'm good with my hands."

 

Rodney briefly shot him a look that said, 'I will not encourage the crazy drunk person,' then snapped his fingers expectantly. "The socket wrench? Sometime this decade would be nice."

 

John formed his mouth into something resembling a pout, which Rodney _also_ refused to find adorable, then looked at the wrench as if he'd just seen it for the first time. Picking it up, he crossed the room and handed the tool to Rodney, smiling proudly as if it was a feat comparable to that time he managed to regain control of his car despite the nasty tap from a rival driver. Given John's current state of inebriation, and the fact that he had walked ten feet without collapsing on his face, Rodney decided it was a valid comparison.

 

John leaned his thigh against the bumper of the car, resting his hands on his hips and grinning down at Rodney, his blue racing jacket falling open to reveal his bare chest in a way that made him look like a model on a NASCAR pinup calendar…if they made any versions with male models. Rodney just made a maligned face in response and slid back under the car, mumbling for John to stay put until he needed him again. After a few seconds, John said, "So are you."

 

It was a bizarre enough statement to make Rodney pause in his work. "Uh…have you suffered some sort of head injury that I don't remember? Because I have no idea what you're talking about."

 

"You're good with your hands, too…and tools, and…I've noticed."

 

Rodney couldn't see John, so he just glared at the undercarriage of the car and spread his hands in his patented 'Why am I constantly surrounded by idiots?' gesture. Wiping his hands on his grease stained coveralls, he replied, "Yes, and I'm sure many others have noticed, given that I'm in charge of your pit crew and spend every waking moment designing…" Rodney slid out from under the car to more fully glare at John, but his words caught in his throat. John had somehow moved without Rodney noticing, planting his feet on either side of Rodney's body, so that when he slid out the first thing he saw was John standing over him, straddling him, lazy grin in place. His brain may have shorted out a bit.

 

"I've also noticed," John said in a throaty voice, half lowering himself, half drunkenly collapsing into Rodney's lap, "that you look really good on your back." John was so close Rodney could smell the lingering asphalt and champagne and ridiculous Aqua Velva he insisted on wearing, and the next thing he knew John's mouth was on his, slightly parted lips sliding wetly over his own, the tentative flick of a tongue the last thing he felt before John pulled away and allowed Rodney's brain to come back online.

 

When Rodney opened his eyes, he found John staring down at him with a look that was equal parts alcohol, arousal, and uncertainty. It was that last bit more than the others that made Rodney smile and thread his fingers through John's hair, pulling him down by his ears for another passionate kiss. Rodney felt a little jolt go through him as their lips met, part of him terrified that this was too good to be true, that it would all fall apart any minute now, while the other part, the one that had been wanting this since the moment he'd first laid eyes on John Sheppard three years ago, decided he'd been waiting for this long enough, and was more than willing to dive right in.

 

The kiss began to heat up, and Rodney bit back a moan when John rolled his hips lazily, pressing their cocks together through the fabric. John smiled into his mouth, moving his hands to the zipper of his coveralls, fingers fumbling slightly- in drunkenness or arousal, Rodney wasn't sure which. As John grazed his lips along the stubble of Rodney's jaw line, he somehow managed to pull himself together enough to grab John's wrists, halting their movement. "John, we can't…Oh, god, yes—wait, no…You're drunk, it's not—"

 

John moved away from where he'd been casually nipping at Rodney's collarbone, looking at Rodney with eyes that suddenly seemed dark, focused, and without a trace of their earlier uncertainty. "I want this, Rodney. It's not…Just trust me." He swallowed, and Rodney watched the movement of his throat. "I want this."

 

Rodney stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Okay, but-mmph!" Rodney barely had time to agree before John smiled widely, cutting him off with an exuberant kiss, working the zipper of his coveralls down. Rodney completely lost his train of thought, until another roll of John's hips reminded him. Shoving at John's shoulders in a Herculean effort to detach John from his mouth, Rodney mumbled, "John, hold on. Stop."

 

"God, what now?" John growled, using what Rodney internally referred to as his 'impatient, pissy' voice, the one he usually used when his car was acting up during a race and Rodney wasn't coming up with a solution fast enough.

 

Rodney just glared back. That voice had stopped having any power of intimidation five minutes after he'd first used it. "Not that it hasn't been a fantasy of mine to get naked and roll around on the dirty garage floor…except that _no_, it actually hasn't. And could we possibly move to someplace that won't send me limping to the chiropractor's tomorrow?"

 

John's frustration lifted, and he took a look around at the dusty, grease-stained concrete of the garage floor. "Oh. Right," he said, rolling off of Rodney and hauling himself unsteadily to his feet, using the car and Rodney for leverage as they both stood. There was a terrifying moment where John overbalanced, and the slow, drunken tilt of his body caused him to lose his footing, sending him crashing into Rodney and pinning him to the hood of the car, chest to chest.

 

Rodney groaned at the impact. "I guess I'll be seeing the chiropractor tomorrow after all."

 

John, oblivious, made no motion to lift himself off Rodney. "Hey," he said, grinning down at him happily. And damn that grin, because Rodney found himself powerless against it, every time.

 

"Hey," he answered back, smiling reluctantly and in a way that he hoped didn't display just how lovesick he felt at that moment. He wasn't sure how successful he'd been, because the next thing he knew, John got an awestruck expression and was tentatively kissing him, licking his way slowly into his mouth as if he hadn't just had his tongue down Rodney's throat ten seconds ago.

 

John's mouth moved on to his neck, his hands working to pull the coveralls off Rodney's shoulders. He'd only succeeded in getting Rodney's elbows trapped in the sleeves before he gave up and began shoving Rodney's undershirt up over his chest. Rodney was awkwardly trying to finish removing his arms from the coveralls himself when John's mouth latched onto a nipple and Rodney gasped, arching up off the hood. John's hot, slick tongue circled around the nub before biting down lightly, then he licked it soothingly before moving on to the next. Rodney groaned low in his chest and finally wrenched one arm free, threading his fingers through John's thick hair.

 

Okay, so maybe it wasn't exactly what Rodney had been thinking when he suggested they move to a more comfortable location, but Rodney was sure his back was already shot to hell and he certainly wasn't planning to make John move when he was busy trailing sloppy kisses down his chest and stomach, slowly making his way to Rodney's aching cock. John resumed pulling off whatever clothing of Rodney's he could reach, and Rodney helped him by toeing off his boots. With one last enthusiastic tug, John pulled off all of Rodney's clothing at once, leaving him spread on his back, naked, on the hood of the car.

 

"Wow," John said, a grin slowly spreading across his features. "That's the hottest thing I've ever seen." Rodney snorted and levered himself up to his elbows to give John an incredulous glare, but then he saw the look in John's eyes, and he believed it.

 

John fell to his knees on the garage floor, leisurely running his hands up Rodney's thighs, making him shiver at the light touch. His hands stilled, rubbing light circles in the hollows of Rodney's hips, and he hazarded a glance upwards. "Rodney, can I..."

 

"If you think you have to ask, you're crazier than your driving record would imply," he answered, his voice sounding huskier and less snarky than he was going for.

 

The smile John gave Rodney went straight to his cock. John leaned forward and licked a hot, wet stripe up the vein on the underside, closing his mouth over the head when he reached it. Rodney saw sparks behind his eyelids that would put an acetylene torch to shame.

 

John circled his tongue around the head before pushing his lips slowly down the shaft, making Rodney's blood rush in his ears. John took him deep, not all the way, but deep enough to make Rodney's toes curl. John slowly moved his mouth up and down Rodney's length, doing absolutely obscene things with his tongue and moaning like he was about to come just from having Rodney's cock in his mouth. Rodney valiantly fought to hold back from just thrusting up into that amazing mouth, but he could feel himself getting close. There was a moment where the surrealism of the situation seemed to crash down on top of him as his mind filled with thoughts like, _This is John. John is giving you a blow job. On the hood of your car. And he's still wearing his racing gear! _Rodney wondered idly if he'd stumbled into one of his porno dreams, but then John's mouth released him with a final lick to the head, and Rodney let out an indignant squawk.

 

"No no no no! Why did you stop?"

 

"You can't come yet. I have something else in mind," John leered up at him. He shoved a hand in his pocket and withdrew a small bottle of lube with an evil grin, and Rodney felt torn between impossibly new heights of arousal and wanting to snap at John for being such a slut that he carried around lube _in his pocket_. Unsurprisingly, arousal won.

 

"Oh god, yes, John, fuck me," he moaned, fighting the urge to come just at the _idea_ of it.

 

John blinked, like he hadn't quite expected that response. "…Really? Are…are you sure?"

 

Rodney gave him a half-hearted glare. "Would I have said it, if I wasn't?"

 

John raised an eyebrow. "Good point." Licking his lips anxiously, John squeezed some lube on his fingers and leaned over Rodney, bracing his clean hand on the hood of the car as he gave him a gentle kiss. "Tell me if you want me to stop," he said, and Rodney opened his mouth either to object to being treated like a blushing virgin or to tell John that he'd never, ever want to stop this. He wasn't sure which. Then John pressed one finger inside his entrance, and all that came out was a breathy gasp.

 

One finger soon became two, thrusting into him and scissoring him open. John was entirely too focused for a drunk man, watching Rodney with heavy-lidded eyes, drinking in every moan and whimper like it was better than the sound of the starter pistol, like the sight of him undone was better than the waving of a checkered flag. Rodney was writhing against the cool metal of the car, his hot skin flushed and sweat-slicked, making it difficult to find purchase as he tried to impale himself on John's fingers, to get more of him inside. _Damn it, John, please…_  


 

Rodney didn't even realize he'd spoken the words aloud until he felt John's fingers pull out of him, feeling lost without the connection. He opened his eyes to find John fumbling with the buttons of his pants, mumbling, "Yeah, okay, just let me…" And then he was frantically shoving his pants down and slicking up his cock, and Rodney only had a moment to admire the sight before John was pressing against him, inside him, and Rodney threw his head back to bang against the hood of the car.

 

They froze like that, the head of John's dick buried inside Rodney, each trying to find the breath that had caught in their chests. John had his head thrown back, eyes closed in ecstasy, and Rodney watched as a bead of sweat ran down the length of John's exposed throat, disappearing under the collar of his jacket. Without thinking, Rodney wrapped his legs around John's ribcage, digging his heels into John's ass and pulling him forward, burying him inside Rodney. John let out a startled noise and fell forward, eyes shut tight as he buried his face in Rodney's neck, breath ghosting across Rodney's skin in ragged gasps. "Fuck, Rodney!" His voice sounded utterly broken with pleasure. "Are you trying to kill me?"

 

Rodney had a snappy comeback all lined up and ready to go, but then John started moving, slow thrusts in and out, and all Rodney could manage was an increasingly incomprehensible litany of moans that sounded like John's name. John swallowed each one with a kiss, his movements becoming more desperate as they approached the edge together. John's hand wrapped around Rodney's flushed cock, stroking in time with the thrusts of his hips, and John mumbled something against his mouth that sounded like, "love you," but probably wasn't.

 

Still, Rodney allowed himself that one moment of weakness to believe John returned his feelings, and it was enough to send him over the edge, spilling over John's hand and their stomachs. A second later, John said Rodney's name, turning it into a strangled yell as he found his release inside Rodney's warm, tight heat. He collapsed on top of Rodney in a spent heap, both of them desperately trying to calm their ragged breathing.

 

After several minutes, Rodney thought John might have passed out on top of him. Shaking John's shoulder elicited a sleepy groan, followed by a snort into his neck as John settled in closer. "Don't wanna move," he grumbled. "Comfy."

 

"Yes, well, not so much for me. I've got a nice, comfy cot in the corner, but you've got to get your bony ass off of me."

 

John groaned again, but pushed himself off of Rodney, briefly pressing his lips to Rodney's before he stood. The casual peck left Rodney's lips warm and tingling in ways the others hadn't, and Rodney wondered at his reaction to it, but John seemed unaffected. They both cleaned up and finished dressing, Rodney opting to leave the grease-stained coveralls on the floor, and throwing on the clean jeans he had worn in the morning before the race. As he was finding his clothes, he looked over to see John using Rodney's discarded shirt to wipe down the hood of his car. He looked up to see Rodney watching him with raised eyebrows, and gave him a bashful grin. "We got lube on her. I just figured…she's my car, I need to clean her up."

 

Rodney just rolled his eyes, willingly getting drawn into the familiar argument. "How many times do I have to tell you John, it is not a _she_, it's an _it_, and it is _my _car. I'm the one who designed and built her…it. Whatever."

 

"And I'm her driver, Rodney," he said, leaning heavily against the hood as if incapable of standing on his own. He looked rumpled and loose, and Rodney liked to think that at least part of that was because of him, not just the alcohol. "How about we just say she's ours," he muttered, half asleep where he stood.

 

Rodney felt an irrational sense of warmth at John's statement, then rolled his eyes and hauled John to his feet, throwing one arm over his shoulders as he dragged him over to the cot. Jeannie had thrown a fit when he'd brought it in, saying he had a bed at home- he should sleep there instead of the garage. But then they had to completely reconstruct the engine from scratch just days before a race, pulling three all-nighters and using the cot to sleep in shifts, and she stopped complaining after that.

 

Rodney flopped John's limp body down on the cot, planning to let John sleep it off, but he clasped Rodney's wrist and tried to pull Rodney down to join him. There was a moment where Rodney wanted nothing more than to just sink into the tiny space next to John and wrap them up in the thin blanket, but then he remembered where they were, that the crew would be in early in the morning. "John, I can't."

 

"You can wake me up before anyone gets here tomorrow," John said, still holding tight to Rodney's wrist. "Please?"

 

At that moment Rodney knew he was screwed, because without a second thought he laid down on the cot, pulling John into his arms. He half-rolled on top of Rodney, slipping an arm around Rodney's waist and pressing his face into his shoulder. He listened to John's quiet breathing, silently hating himself for thinking about tomorrow. He wanted to just enjoy this moment with John asleep in his arms, but he couldn't block out the thought that this was just John's usual need for release after a race. He'd somehow drunkenly stumbled his way from the club down the street to the garage, and Rodney was the nearest available warm body. He was lost in his thoughts when John shifted next to him, let out a sigh and said, "This didn't exactly go how I planned it."

 

Rodney's heart pinched a little at that. He'd been hoping they could save the 'this was a drunken mistake' speech for the morning. Biting the bullet, Rodney managed a choked, "Oh?"

 

"Mmm," John agreed sleepily. "I always promised myself when I won the Daytona 500, I'd let you fuck _me_."

 

If Rodney's brain had been a high performance engine, he was sure it would have seized at that comment. John had wanted this, he'd been planning it, he had come here tonight looking for him so he could…god, it had been anything but a drunken need for release. It had been _special_… as special to John as it had been for Rodney. And if he still harbored any lingering doubts about his place in John's life, they were drowned out by John's next words, mumbled with a hopeful voice into Rodney's neck. "Next time?"

 

Rodney held him tighter in answer as John drifted off to sleep, probably more like passing out, and Rodney couldn't keep himself from having the final word. With a chuckle, he said, "And to think, all those times you told me how much you love driving stick, I thought you were talking about _cars_!"

 

~fin~

  
Additional Author's notes: I didn't want to put this at the beginning because I was afraid it would scare off potential readers, but this is my first completed NC-17 fic, so I'd love some feedback on how it turned out. Concrit is welcome! 

**ETA**:  [](http://pentapus.livejournal.com/profile)[**pentapus**](http://pentapus.livejournal.com/)finished my doodle! Go [tell her how much you love it](http://pentapus.livejournal.com/71659.html), right now! *g*

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ras_elased/pic/0000bz3r/)

 


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